Unclean
by Troodon
Summary: Whatever happened to Quincy, Mina's son? Reviews are always great. Complete, with third chapter up.
1. I

_Disclaimer: I own nothing belonging to LXG or Dracula, by Bram Stoker._

**Chapter 1**

Holding hands, the mother and her child walked down the busy central street. The mother was slightly stooped over, for she was tall, dressed in modest shades of black and grey, her blue eyes steady and alert. The child, no older than five or six years old, was brown-haired and chubby-cheeked, one adorable dimple deepening on his face whenever he laughed or giggled.

A carriage rattled past them even as the child reached his hand out curiously. The mother said firmly, "No, Quincy, no touching. Carriages are dangerous when they go so fast."

"With horses, right? They're big. I wish I could have a horse."

The mother smiled. "Maybe when you're older and more responsible you can get a pony."

The child grinned mischeviously. "Yes, mother. Carriages are…are…" he struggled to find a word. "Carriages are…in-ter-est-in." he pronounced carefully. "Did I say that right?"

His mother looked down and nodded, feeling a surge of protectiveness and pride.

They reached their little house on a quiet avenue with little pockets of old pine trees scattered all around. The sun was already sinking, glowing a dull red and sending streaks of soft purple and brilliant splashes of crimson across the clear sky.

The mother pointed. "Look, the sunset. It's really too bad the houses block most of it."

Quincy looked, opened his mouth, and sneezed. To the mother's chagrin he sniffed and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve.

"Quince! Use your handkerchief-"

"Mother!" the child exclaimed, but rummaged around his coat pocket, declared he couldn't find it, and bounded into the house. The mother shook her head and followed, a half-hidden smile playing about her lips. As she went in she felt a sudden attack of queasiness, hearing a buzzing in her ears, as if a whole swarm of flies had flown in after her. The taste of bile rose in her throat, and she choked, dizzy, and sat down hard on the floor.

* * *

Mina did not want to wake up. For the past few days she had been sick, and now the sun's bright rays made her head ache. She sighed. Three days now she'd been faint and light-headed, slightly flushed as if she had a fever, and her face grew paler each day. She shunned the meals that she cooked for her son, secretly detesting their enticing aroma, only watching Quincy eat. She smiled affectionately at that. Her little boy had a huge appetite, and she didn't know where he put his meals.

She wondered what was wrong with her, determining that her illness wasn't a cold or anything of that sort…rather, it reminded of a terrible time, a memory she'd tried to bury deep in her mind, of the days when she'd thought she'd—

"Mother? Are you all right?"

Quincy stood in front of her, his anxious face worried. "You're sick, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"Do you need the doctor, like the one who came when I was sick?"

She appreciated his worry, but said, "No, I'm fine. Just a bad headache, Quincy. Run outside, I think little Jimmy Cooper is calling for you."

He lingered to take one last look at her, and then ran out shouting to his friend from across the street. Mina stared after him. Her heightened awareness of every detail around her scared her. It was too unnatural, even more so then last time: she could hear Jimmy telling Quincy about the 'huge spider on my bed!', the call of a lonely bird, and even the stealthy steps of a fly across the table.

In a sudden fit of rage she slammed her fists down on the polished wood, missing the poor terrified fly by a scant inch. Her breaths came in gasps as her head started to whirl, and a suffocating weight built on her chest.

_It can't be happening again. It's been four…no, five long years. It can't be happening now. It was all over._

Her spine cracked and jolts of pain shot through the roof of her mouth. A half-strangled shriek tore out of her like a cornered animal at bay.

_It was all supposed to be over…but I am, still, unclean…_

_Unclean…_

The word echoed around her mind once again. She cried, she tried to scream, she fell, breathless, on the floor…

* * *

She dreamed.

_Tall, silver gates glimmered in the golden sunlight. They were open, inviting her to go in, and she walked forward, unsure. Beyond she could see glimpses of laughing children, of white doves flying in the sky. She could hear music: a heavenly chorus soaring up, higher and higher, until the music was too beautiful to bear. And, oh! he was there!_

_"Jonathan!" she cried out, joyful, and he walked towards her, holding out his arms, his large brown eyes warm and kind. Quincy Morris was at his side, smiling, and she ran to meet them, but the gates closed with a clang, and the long grey bars shortened into lethal silver tips. She backed away in horror, even as Jonathan turned his back on her and Quincy's smile vanished._

_She was falling, falling…_

She was awake.

For a moment Mina wondered why she was on the ground.

_Unclean…_

Oh.

She sat on, gathering herself, and finally stood, leaning on the table, surprised at how strong she felt. The headaches were gone, the pain had vanished, and she began to hope she might be somehow cleansed, after all. Instinctively, she felt her forehead.

There was no scar.

Mina heard the shouting and squabbling of Jimmy and Quincy announcing their arrival. She tried to brush her dress off, flattening the wrinkles, and tidied her hair. Her hands trembled.

_Quincy._

With an unexplainable fear she sat down again, reached for a piece of paper and began to write. As her terrified thoughts were transformed into writing, the hard, undeniable truth of what _really_ was happening to her finally came.

DR VAN HELSING STOP FROM M HARKER STOP COME QUICK STOP IM TURNING UNCLEAN STOP QUINCY UNSAFE STOP

She heard Quincy troop in the door, smelled his young, warm blood…


	2. II

_Many thanks to reviewers **Hermione-Potter-McTaggart, Silent Bob 546, Faust**, **Sawyer Fan, **and **random person**! I really appreciate it. Drinks around!_

_Disclaimer: This is getting rather tedious, but ah, well…I own nothing, I do not claim the rights to anything in this chapter and fanfiction._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Quincy entered the dark house.

"Mother?" He called out uncertainly, peering around in the gloom. "I'm home! Jimmy's mother gave us cakes 'cause we're…mother?"

Was that a monster, leering at him out of the dark? He shrank back, his overactive imagination getting the better of him again. There it was! Its horned head towered over him and he caught his breath even as something near him rustled. A voice came to him.

"Quincy?"

There was a scratch, and a soft hiss as a match flared up to revealed his mother's white face. Quincy relaxed and, just in case, looked around for the monster, which turned out to be a coat-rack. He smiled in relief. "I thought that was a monster! Good thing you're here-"

She closed her eyes. "Oh, Quince…"

"Yes?"

"Do a favour for me, all right? Go down to the telegraph office…you know where it is? Just around the corner?"

Quincy nodded, curious.

"Go down there, and give them this note to send to my friend," she handed him a rather crumpled piece of paper filled with big, messy letters. "Here is the money; don't lose it! Can you do this, Quincy?"

He bobbed his head up and down, shrugging on his jacket, eager to be off on such an important errand. He ran to the door and stuffed on his shoes, one little hand clutching the message and the money, the other hand already grasping the door handle. Before he left Quincy took one last look at his mother, who looked pale and haggard.

"Mother…are you sure you're not sick? I can get the doctor—"

"No!" She pushed him abruptly away, so hard that he reeled against the coat-rack, as if she was afraid of touching him. "No. And, Quincy…listen…"

He was halfway out the door.

"Stay at Jimmy's for a while…and please…please don't come back. Promise me…!"

He was gone, sprinting up the street. She yelled after him as long as she could, fear for her boy clutching at her heart like a constricting hand that would not release her from its iron grip.

* * *

The Coopers were nice, friendly people. Large, smiling Mrs. Cooper welcomed him with a big hug and Mr. Cooper shook his hand affably talked with the easy familiarity of close neighbours. They didn't question why Quincy had come to spend the night, but there were a great many knowing and questioning glances over the Coopers' supper table that night. Mrs. Cooper said something indignantly about "irresponsibility" and "poor thing, with no man to take care of her".

He didn't understand.

Quincy was lonely and starting to feel scared. He picked at his potatoes. Jimmy was fun and easygoing, and so was his little sister, but mother wasn't there.

When it was time for bed he shared a bed with Jimmy, staring up into the ceiling, tears pricking his eyes. He rubbed them fiercely, knowing crying was for crybabies, but the tears came rushing down anyway.

_Stay at Jimmy's…and don't come back!_

No, no!

_Don't come back!_

Quincy threw off the covers and tiptoed out of the room. Jimmy snorted and turned over in his sleep.

* * *

Mina stood in the darkness, ravenously hungry. She chewed on a crust of stale bread, but it did not satisfy her one bit. The match had gone out and she made no attempt to strike another and light a candle or a lamp. The light hurt her eyes. 

Speaking of eyes…

Hers had changed. A moment ago, talking to Quincy, she had discovered she could see every detail in the house as plain as daylight, from the speck of dirt on a mat to Quincy's worried face. She had panicked, and pushed Quincy away.

_Please don't come back, Quincy…_

She heard the door open and knew instantly who the intruder was. Her nostrils flared eagerly, but—

_No, Quincy…go…no…_

He came in cautiously, brown eyes wide. Mina could _smell_ his fear and concern. An impassioned mood stole suddenly over her. She didn't move to comfort her son, or to speak. She waited.

"Mother…?"

"Why did you come back?" Her reply was hard, and she saw Quincy flinch.

"I don't know…I-"

Mina felt herself growing angry at this young creature's idiocy. She began to growl, feeling the hunger squirming around her insides. A small part of her was shocked and screamed at her to stop, but the beast now inside her could not be contained. She could see nothing now but the terrified quarry in front of her and she threw herself upon it.

Quincy cried out. Pain flitted through her heart, but the bloodlust rose and overwhelmed her, blinding every thought and feeling, every goal and purpose but the meal waiting for her. For the first time, elongated fangs slid from their sheaths, and without hesitation, she sunk her teeth in Quincy's small neck.

_Food. Life. Drink. Blood…_

Oh, the young, hot blood! Rushing inside her, swirling into her frozen veins, warming her limbs, soothing her hunger. She longed for more of it, and greedily clutched Quincy to her in a twisted embrace, her victim limp in her arms. When her hunger was sated, she threw her head back and smiled, satisfied.

Quincy moaned.

Mina laughed—a low, throaty snarl. She laughed long and loud, her laughter fading away only when she began to thirst for that warm, deep draught of life once more. _Blood._ She had put her fangs to the boy's throat when he whimpered: a half-strangled squeal like a dying animal emanated from his pierced throat. His mouth formed one desperate word: the word he would cry out when he skinned his knee, the word when he had a nightmare, the word when he was sick.

_Mother…_

She froze, indecisive. Then, aloud, he whispered:

"Mother…"

Her eyes cleared. She groaned, struggling for breath. She looked down at her son—for now she recognized the boy lying prostrate on the ground, one small hand reaching up to her…

_Mother._

She could not move. _Oh, the blood._

The hand fell down, slowly, slowly, finally resting on the floor with a soft thump.

Mina staggered away, falling over, fleeing from the house in a daze of horror and dawning comprehension of what she had done.

The still black night was strangely comforting.


	3. III

_This will be the last chapter: an epilogue of sorts, I guess.Thanks to **Faust, Hermione-Potter-McTaggart, Sawyer Fan**, and **Samyo** for reviewing chapter two!_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which means I don't own it or make money off it._

**

* * *

**

Chapter 3

An elderly man alighted from a coach, tipped the driver, and stepped onto the street. He strode briskly towards the row of neat, tidy houses, glancing at a piece of crumpled paper in his hand. Stepping carefully around a muddy puddle he walked up a crooked, wandering little path and knocked at the third house from the corner.

There was no response. He waited politely, appearing still and quiet, but a careful observer would have noticed his eyes. Though he was old, his eyes were bright and alert, and he was fingering something in his right coat pocket almost nervously.

After a moment, and more knocks without answer, he took a long metal stick from his left pocket and deftly picked open the door with surprising ease. He pushed inside and looked around cautiously.

"Hello?"

His footsteps echoed eerily on the wooden floorboards.

"Mrs. Harker?" he began. "I'm terribly sorry, but—" he stopped in shock, words dying on his lips. His heart pounded wildly.

There, sprawled on the white kitchen floor, was little Quincy, eyes closed. The doctor's eyes instantly went to the boy's neck.

_Two tiny holes, slightly scarred over._

He knelt down, glanced about, and, just to be safe, took a cross out of his pocket. It was still warm from his touch, but when he felt Quincy's wrists and neck for a pulse, the boy was already stone cold. Caked blood had dried on the boy's neck and on the white, white tiles.

The man drew a sharp breath, and his bright eyes were clouded with sorrow. He got up, calling, searching, hunting for the mother.

She was gone. Gone from this forsaken house, this quiet street. Gone.

He closed his eyes in pain.

_Lord help us._

* * *

_-FIN-_


End file.
